


just a lil' bit of your time

by SoftRegard



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/F, Flirting, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftRegard/pseuds/SoftRegard
Summary: Aranea and her crew stop at Hammerhead, and she takes some downtime in the company of everyone's favourite blonde mechanic.





	just a lil' bit of your time

Despite her best efforts not to, she’s gotten used to certain luxuries - flying principle among them.

As they grab their remaining supplies and leave the dropship behind, Aranea pinches the bridge of her nose. The leather of her gloves are cold from the frost. The stress she feels now is preemptive, in anticipation of all the troubles ahead. Still, they all knew this would happen eventually: flying eats up more fuel than driving on the ground, and what scarce resources are left are best left for the folks on the ground who need them.

It’s the slow erosion of comforts that makes the long dark so unbearable - daemons are an easily solvable problem, but this? Not so much.

Her ship is stowed in the outskirts of Lestallum, amongst a large number of others - a veritable graveyard of vessels, some of them put to bed ages ago; she’s real sorry to see her baby among their number. It’s a big red spot in the middle of a sea of black and gunmetal grey, like a heart ripped out and tossed into refuse.

“You too, huh?” says the waiting messenger as she approaches. It’s one of the gals who work the factory, dressed in the standard overalls and a thick coat to protect against the night chill. Her voice is a smoke-ruined rasp, the mark of a woman married to work. “It’s always a real sorry sight to see.”

“We were pushing it,” Aranea shrugs, handing her crate to a waiting grunt. “It was about time, anyway.”

“Come on,” the woman turns around and beckons her to follow, the motion sharp and to the point. “We got you set up with a car - I’ll take you to it.”

 

*

 

Hammerhead is a cute little place, she’ll admit. It’s got that simple country charm you just don’t find in Niflheim; even the most far out towns in that place still liked deck themselves out in magitek, pretending like they were big shots. It had been pretentious as shit.

Her men handle unloading the supplies and she dips into the charming diner-slash-hunter-hub to see if there’s anything to eat that doesn’t come from a ration box. She weaves around the stacks of bullets and weaponry toward the cash register, and the sight of an actual cook - in an _apron!_ \- behind the counter is so good she could fucking cry. She comes up to the counter and he gives her a quick once over: “New face around these parts?”

You know things have truly gone to shit when the civilians look as roughed up and bone-beaten as the guys fighting on the front lines. The man’s got some scars threading into his dark skin, and bags under his eyes so heavy that she can’t discern his age. His voice is kind though. The night hasn’t taken that from him yet.

“Hey,” she nods, pulling off her gloves. “I’m Aranea - got a temporary assignment here after your usual guy got his leg snipped off by a Reapertail.”

“Shit, Dennis?”

“That’s the one.”

The man sighs, “Poor lad. He alive?”

“Yeah, should be back in rotation after a bit.”

He nods solemnly before introducing himself: “The name’s Takka. You looking for a bite?”

“Hell yes.”

“Then have a seat.”

She’s set up in a corner table near the back with a nice plate of meat on rice. It’s a bit simple, but after weeks of prepackaged food it’s about the best thing she’s tasted in an age. She’s got a good view from her seat, watching the people work outside through the blinds in the window; the station is lit up like a stadium, with gleaming lights painting the asphalt in pale blue. It makes everyone look sickly.

Her boys have the unpacking down to a science, minimizing time and maximizing output - it’s beautiful to see, like a machine of human perseverance.  

From the garage a woman walks out, a leggy blonde with a long stride that’s just on the verge of cocky. She doesn’t look like everyone else - dressed in bright chocobo yellow instead of the practical olive, navy, or black. There’s a box under her arm, balanced on her hip - which is nearly bare but for the little scrap of fabric she’s trying to pass off as shorts.

Aranea raises a brow, fork halfway to her mouth. You don’t see too many folks dressed like _that_ in Niflheim.

“Say,” she starts, as Takka plops a cup of water on her table. “Who’s that?”

“Miss Cindy? She’s a mechanic ‘round these parts, works under her grandpa Cid.”

“I see.”

 

*

 

Aranea tips Takka well, and leaves the diner to make her way back to her men. As she nears the gas pumps, she spies the woman from earlier scrubbing down her car with loving attention; the way she leans over the hood makes a stunning line out of her back, just dipping into the curve of a pert little ass.

Aranea is tempted to stand back and enjoy the show.

“I hope one of the boys is paying you for this,” she says slyly, coming around to the other side of the car and quirking a brow. “Because I typically just go for a spitshine, myself.”

The blonde looks up, cute little curls giving a perky bounce on her delicate shoulders. Big green eyes take her in and she smiles: “It’s on the house, darlin’. Call it a thank you for coverin’ for Dennis.”

“Just pulling my weight,” says Aranea, mouth quirking to the side as she takes a peek down the girl’s shirt. “Poor guy didn’t ask for a vacation.”

“It’s a rough way to go about it, I’ll say,” Cindy sighs, folding the old rag in her hands. Her clothes are impractical, but the girl has the good sense to protect her hands with some high quality gloves. Aranea wonders what her hands are like under there - calloused from her line of work? Or kept soft and cared for? It’s tough to suss this one out.

“I’ve given her some fresh oil and a tune up,” Cindy goes on, her hand stroking down the hood of the car. “So she should be ready to go whenever y’all need.”

“Thanks, appreciate it.”

“Aw, it’s no trouble.”

“So,” Aranea makes her way around the car and comes to a stop next to her. “Where do I make my payment?”

Cindy blinks, her thick lashes a fetching shadow across her cheeks.

“Like I said - no payment necessary.”

“Hm,” Aranea looks down at her nails, feigning contemplation. Her gloves are tucked into her belt, and she likes the feel of the air against her bare hands. “Then how about a tip?”

Her voice had dipped lower than she intended, coming out an intent drawl - but it gets the girl’s attention because she shifts where she stands, her hips giving a sleek little swerve that makes the planes of her stomach catch the light: “Well...I won’t turn down a lady and her pride - what’d you have in mind, doll?”

**Author's Note:**

> you can't tell me these two wouldn't be scorching hot together ;P


End file.
